


You're a Menace

by ashfalldown



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Punk Grantaire, grantaire and gavroche are bros and it's the best, it was supposed to be punk!r but it kind of just ended up as this mess omg sorry, look i don't know what happened really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1914975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashfalldown/pseuds/ashfalldown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't Grantaire's business if Enjolras wanted to start fights he couldn't finish. It absolutely wasn't. </p><p>Which is how he ended up breaking a man's nose and getting kicked out of yet another bar, trying to figure out where the hell Enjolras lived so he could take him home and move on with his night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're a Menace

Grantaire turned his head tiredly at the sound of a fight breaking out. There’d been a fight in this bar almost every night he’d been here, and it was hardly exciting. Except that this time, there was something noticeably different about it. He swore to himself as he caught sight of Enjolras’ too-familiar blonde curls, ducking a meaty fist. Fast, but not fast enough to stop it coming into contact with the side of his face.

Grantaire winced at the sight, and returned his attention to his drink. It wasn’t his business, he rationalised. He hardly even liked the stupid blonde guy, him or his ridiculous friends. They’d swarmed around him one afternoon at lunch, after one of his probably too frequent antiestablishment rants, and hadn’t left him alone since.

He picked at the hole fraying his jeans. If Enjolras wanted to go around getting into barfights, it wasn’t his problem. By all counts, Enjolras hadn’t been an innocent bystander, and had in fact taken the first swing. It wasn’t Grantaire’s fault that Enjolras was stupid enough to start fights with men twice his size.

Unable to control his curiosity, Grantaire swung around on his stool to watch the fight. His eyes narrowed as the other guy delivered a punch to Enjolras’ gut. Enjolras doubled over in pain, and the other guy didn’t waste any time taking another swing at his face as soon as he had straightened up. Grantaire tried to ignore the anger rising in him at the sight of the blood dribbling from a cut in Enjolras’ lip.

He sighed, as he swung back around to the bar. He grabbed his drink, downed it quickly, and slammed the empty glass back down. He wiped at the back of his mouth and stood, shoving bystanders roughly out of his way as he strode over to where Enjolras was feebly trying to fight off the guy punching him without any signs of stopping.

Whether it was from the beating, or the booze he’d been drinking, Enjolras was barely standing by the time Grantaire reached him. The other guy stared down at him as he came to a stop between the two. Grantaire recognised him as one of the regulars, and, from the look in the eyes, the recognition was mutual.

“Look,” the guy slurred. “I don’t got a problem with you, kid.”

“Well, I’ve got a problem with you,” Grantaire told him, staring him down. “Leave him alone.”

“Don’t be a hero,” the man said. “He was asking for it. He started mouthing off at me for no good reason – ”

“You were harassing those girls,” Enjolras spat bravely from behind Grantaire. His words were barely coherent, but Grantaire heard him clearly enough. He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Enjolras getting into a fight defending girls was almost too predictable. “Creep,” he added, for good measure.

Grantaire grabbed the man’s fist as he surged forward to punch Enjolras again.

“I wouldn’t,” he warned.

“Get out of the way,” the guy said threateningly, wrenching his hand from Grantaire’s grasp. “I told you, I don’t got a problem with you. It’s your friend I gotta teach a lesson to.”

“Well you’ll have to go through me,” Grantaire said, not bothering with his usual denial of friendship with Enjolras. “And it won’t be easy.”

The guy’s eyes were dark with anger.

“Fine,” he growled. “You asked for it.”

He pulled back and swung clumsily, aiming for Grantaire’s head. Grantaire ducked quickly out of the way and responded with a quick, precise jab of his own.

The guy exclaimed in pain as Grantaire heard the probably-too-familiar crack of a nose breaking. The bartender looked over disapprovingly as the guy howled, blood spurting out from between his fingers. Grantaire looked over at the bartender, holding his hands up in surrender.

“I know, I know,” he said resignedly, taking Enjolras’ arm and slinging it over his shoulders. Enjolras leant into him immediately. “We’re going.”

* * *

 

Drunk Enjolras was probably more irritating than sober Enjolras, Grantaire thought to himself as they stepped out into the alleyway. He sighed to himself at the thought of yet _another_ bar he wouldn’t be allowed back into. At least this time hadn’t technically been his fault, which was little consolation now that he was rapidly running out of places to drink.

“Hey.” He nudged Enjolras with his hip as they walked, Enjolras’ feet dragging heavily along the pavement. “How far is your place from here?”

Enjolras mumbled incoherently in response. Grantaire sighed, exasperated. He nudged the boy again, harder this time.

“Enjy,” he said. “Where do you live?”

“Enjy?”

Grantaire realised too late that he’d never used the nickname for the boy anywhere other than in his head. He hoped Enjolras wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

“Enjolras,” he corrected himself. “Where. Do you. Live?” he asked patiently, but Enjolras was no longer paying attention.

“Enjy,” Enjolras said, testing out the word. Nobody ever called him Enjy. He decided that he liked it. “En Gee.” He giggled to himself, and Grantaire rolled his eyes. There was no way he was getting any sense out of him like this. Reluctantly, he changed directions.

* * *

 

They had to stop twice on the walk to Grantaire’s loft so that Enjolras could throw up all over the sidewalk, and himself. He probably would have thrown up all over the city if Grantaire had lived any further away.

Grantaire shoved Enjolras into the elevator, more grateful than ever that it had finally been fixed. He propped him up against the walls as the doors slid closed, fumbling in his pocket for the keys to his apartment. Enjolras started to slump down against the elevator wall as it arrived at Grantaire’s floor. Grantaire swore and bent down quickly to help him up before the doors slid closed.

If he’d thought that getting Enjolras to the apartment was difficult, getting Enjolras down the hallway to his apartment was an impossible task. He was even less helpful than he’d been at the beginning of the journey, something Grantaire hadn’t thought possible. He gave up halfway down the hall, throwing Enjolras over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry rather than trying to convince him to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

He unlocked the door with minimal difficulty and shuffled inside, kicking the door closed behind him. He banged into a few things in the dark, but managed to get Enjolras down to the bedroom with little injury. He set Enjolras down, steadying him as he swayed on his feet and sat him down on the bed before remembering that he was covered in vomit.

Grantaire sighed. This was absolutely not how he’d seen the night going when he’d left the apartment earlier. All he’d wanted was a drink – or two, or five, and instead he’d broken a man’s nose and ended up with a vomit splattered boy in his bed. And, okay, sure, it wasn’t like he’d never thought about getting Enjolras in his bed, but he’d always been more sober and less vomited-on in his fantasies. He propped Enjolras up against the headboard while he searched for something for him to sleep in.

He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a shirt out of his closet and returned to Enjolras, who was mumbling to himself with his head against the wall. Desperately trying not to touch the dirty parts of Enjolras’ clothes, Grantaire started to undress him.

He unbuttoned Enjolras’ shirt slowly, doing his best not to touch his skin. While he wasn’t exactly the most upstanding person, Grantaire had to draw the line at feeling up a practically unconscious boy. He slipped the shirt off Enjolras’ shoulders and down his arms, peeling it off with some difficulty. He dropped it down to the floor beside him to wash later.

Enjolras straightened for a second before slowly tipping sideways, falling down onto the mattress as Grantaire eyed his pants reluctantly. There was no way he could leave them on. Enjolras couldn’t sleep in vomited on jeans, and besides, Grantaire didn’t want his dirty jeans any closed to his bed than they were.

He pulled off Enjolras’ shoes and placed them down in front of the bedside table. He stood and straightened out Enjolras’ legs and reached over to unbutton the jeans. He pulled the fabric up and as far away from the skin as he could and yanked at the jeans, which hardly budged.

“Enjy,” Grantaire said, tugging at the denim. “You’re gonna have to help me out here.” He patted Enjolras’ hips gently. “Enjolras.”

Enjolras groaned, but rolled onto his back. He lifted his hips slightly, creating enough space for Grantaire to shuffle his jeans down and off his legs. He grabbed his sweatpants from where they sat, and tried to get Enjolras into them, which proved to be a lot like dressing a mannequin – a really, really uncooperative mannequin.

He managed to get the pants on Enjolras as best he could, trying not to let his gaze linger too long where he knew that it shouldn’t, though he was interested to note that Enjolras wore boxers. He’d always picked him as a briefs kind of guy.

“Enjolras.” He nudged him gently. “Enjolras, sit up.”

Enjolras threw an arm over his eyes and groaned.

“Come on,” Grantaire coaxed. “Let’s get a shirt on you, then you can sleep.”

He tried to prop Enjolras up to pull the shirt over his head, but simultaneously trying to hold him up and manoeuvre the shirt onto him was just as difficult as he’d thought it would be.

“Fine,” Grantaire huffed eventually, letting Enjolras fall back down onto the mattress. “I give up.”

He struggled a little, but managed to get Enjolras the right way up, his golden curls spilling across the pillow. He pulled the blankets up over Enjolras, who moaned quietly and curled up on his side, burrowing down into the warmth. For a moment, Grantaire considered crawling in beside him. He shook his head, dispelling the thought, and gathered up Enjolras’ dirty clothes as he left the room.

He threw the clothes in the washing machine on his way to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and a couple of aspirin, returning briefly to the bedroom to place them on the bedside table for when Enjolras woke up. He grabbed his sweatpants from where he’d left them on the ground this morning and left the room, heading upstairs to the part of his apartment that served as his studio. He could sleep up there tonight, provided that he slept at all.

* * *

 

Enjolras wasn’t sure whether he had woken of his own accord, or whether the intense pounding in his head had just made it impossible to stay asleep, but either way, being awake was not pleasant. He sat up, blinking slowly as he took in the unfamiliar environment. He had no idea where he was, he realised in embarrassment as he looked around, but the inhabitant of the unfamiliar room had left out water and aspirin, which he gulped down gratefully.

From somewhere in the house, he heard music. The noise was playing havoc with his head, but at least he wasn’t alone, or the only one awake. He had no idea what time it was, and sitting around in this bed, no matter how comfortable it was, wasn’t going to get him any answers.

He looked down in confusion as he swung his legs out from beneath the covers, and realised he wasn’t wearing his own pants. He wasn’t wearing any shirt at all, which was an excellent way to notice the bruise forming on his side.

Enjolras groaned as parts of the night started to come back to him. The bar. The fight. _Grantaire_. He flopped down onto his back, willing none of it to be true. At least that answered the question of whose bed he was in. Probably.

He stood slowly to search for his clothes, steadying himself against the bedside table until the world stopped spinning. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, and raised his fingers to touch the purpling skin beneath his eye. He hissed as he pressed against the skin. So that was going to hurt. He grabbed a shirt off the floor and slipped it on over his head, sipping at the bottle of water as he followed the music.

He followed the sounds upstairs to the landing, and hesitated on the last stair.

Grantaire sat with his bare back to him, immersed in painting as he nodded his head almost imperceptibly to the music. Enjolras stepped up onto the landing, leaning against the railing as he watched him paint. It may have just been because Enjolras couldn’t see his face, which was usually scowling, or rolling his eyes at one thing or another, but Grantaire painting was much different than any Grantaire he’d seen. He looked peaceful, somehow, lost in his art and his music.

Feeling Enjolras’ eyes on him, Grantaire turned around.

“Sorry,” he apologised. He leant over to turn the music down. “Did I wake you?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No, I... my head was killing me,” he said with a sheepish smile.

Grantaire laughed. “I’ll bet. Did you see the aspirin?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Grantaire shrugged casually. “How are you feeling, otherwise?” His gaze flickered unsubtly up to Enjolras’ blackening eye.

Enjolras grinned. “I’ve had worse,” he said nonchalantly, to Grantaire’s amusement.

Grantaire quirked an eyebrow. “Do you make a habit of starting fights in bars?”

“Just when the other guy deserves it,” Enjolras told him with a smile.

Grantaire rolled his eyes good naturedly. Enjolras had never seen him look so relaxed.

“Nice shirt,” Grantaire said casually, taking in the sight of Enjolras in his favourite shirt. He could definitely get used to seeing Enjolras in his clothes, he thought to himself.

“Thanks,” Enjolras said, suddenly remembering what he was wearing. “Uh,” he began nervously, unable to meet Grantaire’s eyes as he tried to stammer out the question he didn’t want to ask. He looked down at his hands. “We didn’t, uh, last night... we didn’t - ?”

Grantaire tried to fight his smirk, watching in amusement as Enjolras turned red, before taking pity on him.

“What kind of guy do you think I am?” he asked. “Wait, don’t answer that. We didn’t,” he clarified. “Do anything. I just changed your clothes. I would have taken you home, but you were too busy throwing up to tell me where you live.”

“So that’s what that taste is,” Enjolras grimaced.

Grantaire laughed. “That’d be it, yeah. There’s, uh, spare toothbrushes in the bathroom if you want to brush your teeth.”

“Oh?” Enjolras was momentarily stumped. Grantaire hardly seemed liked the kind of guy who kept a bunch of spare toothbrushes lying around. He didn’t exactly seem fond of enough people for him to have guests over often enough to keep things like that here for them.

“Gav stays over sometimes,” Grantaire explained in the silence. “And, for some reason, he can’t keep track of one at a time. Trust me, it’s easier just to keep spares.”

“Gavroche?” Enjolras asked, confused. He didn’t think he’d seen Grantaire and Gavroche speak more than a few sentences to each other when they all hung out as a group. He wouldn’t have thought that they’d be close enough for Gavroche to be staying over.

“Yeah.” Grantaire reached up to scratch at the back of his neck awkwardly. He hadn’t meant to bring the whole thing up. “He stays over sometimes, when he, uh, when he doesn’t want to be at home.”

“Right,” Enjolras said. Eponine had mentioned that sometimes Gavroche wouldn’t come home – and he certainly couldn’t blame him, but he didn’t think that anybody would suspect that Grantaire’s apartment was where he disappeared to.

“Do you want breakfast or anything?” Grantaire changed the subject, leaning over to put his paintbrush down.

Enjolras’ mouth went dry as Grantaire stood. He had a hard time focusing on anything other than the fact that Grantaire was in front of him, shirtless, with his pants slung low over his hips, and...

“Enjolras.” Grantaire’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Enjolras blushed, like he was afraid that Grantaire had somehow known what he was thinking. “Breakfast?”

“Uh, no,” Enjolras said nervously, already backing down the stairs. Suddenly the apartment seemed too small for the both of them to be in together. “No, I should... I should go.” He practically ran down the rest of the stairs. Grantaire looked down over the railing, his face a mixture of confusion and amusement. “Thanks for, um, everything. Bye.”

He rushed back into the bedroom to grab his shows, stumbling over himself as he rushed towards the front door.

“Bye,” Grantaire called, amused, as he watched the boy go. He returned to his painting with a shrug as the door clicked shut.

* * *

 

Grantaire had been painting for hours. He should have been finished by now, or at least almost done, but he just couldn’t _focus_. He sighed in frustration and ran his hand through his hair, realising too late that his hand was covered with paint. He groaned in frustration and tossed his paintbrush to the side. He was getting nowhere, and the sun was going down, and it was about time he took a shower, anyway.

He’d just stepped out of the shower when he heard a knock on the door. He opened it, hoping optimistically for Enjolras, but was greeted by a different blonde. Grantaire moved to let him inside.

“Sorry,” Gavroche apologised as Grantaire closed the door behind him.

Grantaire shrugged. “It’s fine,” he told him. “The place was getting too quiet anyway. But you’re on the couch this time,” he said. “I’m not giving up the bed tonight.”

“Fine by me,” Gavroche said. He always felt a little awkward coming here, no matter how many times Grantaire had made it clear that he was welcome, but it was getting easier for him to feel comfortable.

He sat down on the edge of the couch gingerly, looking around at the apartment that seemed more familiar than his own home.

Grantaire had disappeared upstairs to retrieve his phone, and nudged Gavroche with his foot as he returned. “The usual?” he asked.

“You don’t have to feed me,” Gavroche mumbled. “I just need a place to sleep, you don’t have to – ”

“I’m not doing it for you,” Grantaire told him matter-of-factly. “I’ve been painting all day, no breaks. I’m starving, and I’m not sharing my food with you. So?” he asked. “Usual?”

“Yeah,” Gavroche said, giving him a little smile. They both knew that he was lying, but Gavroche appreciated the lie. “Thanks.

“Don’t mention it,” Grantaire said, and he meant it. “Set up the Xbox while I order,” he said as he headed for the balcony. “It’s been way too long since you lost to me at anything.”

Gavroche rolled his eyes, but grinned as he lifted himself off the couch to set up the game, spying something interesting as he did.

* * *

 

“Food should be here soon,” Grantaire announced as he stepped back into the apartment, sliding the balcony door closed behind him. “Ready to lose?” He flopped down onto the couch by Gavroche, picking up the other controller as he did.

“You better save room so you can eat those words,” Gavroche taunted as they began to play.

It didn’t escape Grantaire’s notice that Gavroche had selected the most violent game he owned, but he knew to stay quiet and let Gavroche work through whatever he had to as they played. By the time the pizza arrived, he seemed a lot more relaxed.

They called a temporary truce and set themselves up on the floor while they ate.

“So,” Gavroche started conversationally. “What did you get up to last night?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Not a lot. Had a drink, came home to paint, went to sleep. Nothing nearly as exciting as pizza and video games.”

“So no company?” Gavroche asked.

Grantaire shook his head. “No, why?”

Gavroche fixed him with a mischievous grin. “Because those aren’t your clothes,” he said, looking pointedly over to where Enjolras’ clothes were still hanging on the drying rack.

“So?” Grantaire asked. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten Enjolras’ clothes were still there.

“So,” Gavroche teased. “Is that why I have to take the couch tonight, because your bed is still covered in _sex_?”

“My bed isn’t covered in sex,” Grantaire rolled his eyes. “And I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Are you sure?” Gavroche asked. “Because those are another boy’s clothes, and – wait.” He peered closer at the clothes in question. “That’s Enjolras’ shirt.”

“No it isn’t,” Grantaire denied too quickly.

“Yes it is,” Gavroche insisted.

“How could you possibly know that?” Grantaire asked.

“Because,” Gavroche answered. “Enjolras only owns like, four shirts, and that’s one of them. What?” he shrugged at Grantaire’s questioning look. “I notice things. So did you finally make a move, and sex all over the place?”

“No,” Grantaire said.

“Then why are his clothes here?” Gavroche asked suspiciously.

“Because I saved him from a barfight before he threw up all over himself and couldn’t get home.”

“So you brought him here to undress him?”

“I wasn’t going to let him sleep in my bed in vomit clothes,” Grantaire said, like it was obvious.

“And you slept...?”

“In the studio,” Grantaire said. “Because I’m a gentleman.”

Gavroche snorted. “Right.” He ducked as Grantaire threw a stray mushroom at him. “And I’m sure that the whole time, you weren’t even thinking about – ”

“It doesn’t matter what I was thinking about,” Grantaire told him. “I slept up there, he slept down here, and he ran off this morning pretty much as soon as he could, he’ll probably never be back, and I don’t even know why we’re talking about this,” he said moodily without taking a breath. “Can we just go back to kicking the crap out of stuff?” he asked, picking up his controller.

Gavroche shrugged. “Cool with me,” he said putting his pizza aside as they unpaused the game. He knew there was more that Grantaire wasn’t saying. He was sure, with the way that he sometimes caught Grantaire staring at Enjolras when they were all together, that some of the others had their suspicions, but as far as he knew, he was the only one who knew for sure how much Grantaire liked Enjolras.

He refused to push for information. For the first time he felt like he could give a little back to Grantaire for everything he’d done for him, and if giving back meant cracking bad jokes to keep his mind off it, and letting him take his aggression out on the video game, then that’s what he would do.

Grantaire got tired of beating up animated characters eventually, and headed upstairs to have another try at finishing his painting, which, as it turned out, only made his bad mood worse. He gave up trying to do anything at all and went to bed. He shoved his headphones in and stared at the ceiling in the dark as he tried not to notice how his bed smelt like Enjolras.

* * *

 

He almost didn’t hear the knocking. After Gavroche had left, he’d been holed upstairs, working like mad on a new painting. He had accepted that there was no chance he was going to be able to finish anything until he’d got this out of his system, so he’d taken a bottle of vodka upstairs and turned the music on just loud enough to drown out any sort of distraction. Which is why it had taken him so long to realise that somebody was actually at his door.

Figuring that it was just Gavroche, he didn’t bother to put a shirt on as he ambled downstairs to let him in.

“I don’t know why you don’t just let yourself in,” he said as he approached the door. “I’ve told you enough – ” He stopped short as he opened the door, and found not-Gavroche standing in the doorway. “Oh. Sorry, I thought you were Gav.”

“No,” Enjolras said, a little sheepishly. “Just me.”

Grantaire noticed Enjolras blushing a little as he took in the fact that Grantaire was shirtless. He stretched out languidly along the doorframe, giving him a grin.

“So what can I do for you?” he asked. “I didn’t think you’d be back after that sprint the other day.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, blushing. “Sorry. I, um.” He looked like he was struggling to remember why he had come here in the first place, and Grantaire would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it. “I brought your clothes back,” he said, remembering suddenly, holding them out like a peace offering.

“You didn’t have to,” Grantaire said as he took them. “Even if it was my favourite shirt.”

“I wanted to,” Enjolras told him. “And I wanted to thank you again. Properly.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow and wondered idly if Enjolras could tell that his mind was racing with all the ways he’d like Enjolras to thank him.

“I don’t usually – ”

“Get drunk? Start fights with men twice your size? Vomit all over the city?” Grantaire teased.

Enjolras’ mouth quirked. “Pick one,” he said. “Anyway. I made you something, to say thanks.”

Grantaire tilted his head and watched curiously as he fumbled in his coat pocket.

“It’s a patch,” Enjolras explained as he passed it over, like Grantaire couldn’t already see that. He didn’t know why he was so nervous about giving it to him, it wasn’t like it was a big deal. It was a thank-you gift. That was all. “For your jacket. I saw the one Jehan made for you, and I thought maybe you could use another one, I don’t – ”

“You made this?” Grantaire asked as he looked down at the familiar pattern. Lisa Simpson proclaiming that the whole damn system was wrong. The painting he hadn’t been able to finish. “For me?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said. “I saw you painting it, before I left, and I thought maybe you, I don’t know, it’s stupid – ”

“Do you want to come in?” Grantaire interrupted.

He’d meant to tell him that the patch wasn’t stupid. He’d meant to say that it meant a lot that he’d noticed what he’d been working on, but instead he was inviting him into his apartment, which was probably a terrible idea.

“Yeah,” Enjolras said. “Sure.”

Grantaire moved out of the doorway, letting Enjolras step inside. They both tried to ignore the awkward silence that seemed to settle as Grantaire closed the door.

“I’ll put these away,” Grantaire said, holding the clothes awkwardly. Enjolras gave him a small smile as he walked past him and into the bedroom.

He placed the patch carefully down on his bedside table and tossed the clothes on the bed. He ran his hands through his hair. He should not have been so nervous. He’d been confident when Enjolras was in the doorway, but as soon as he’d stepped inside, it felt different. It wasn’t like Enjolras hadn’t been in his apartment before – sure, he’d been drunk, and essentially unconscious, but he’d still _been_ there.

He took a few deep breaths as he pulled on a shirt. He was going to act normal when he walked back out there, and it was absolutely not going to be weird. He’d maybe offer Enjolras some left over pizza, they’d play a little FIFA or watch a movie or something if they wanted. Enjolras would leave, Grantaire would probably stay up painting all night, and everything would go back to normal.

When he walked back out into the lounge area, Enjolras wasn’t there.

“Enjy...olras?” he asked, stopping himself from using the nickname. It was one thing to use it when the boy was drunk, but sober, when he would probably remember it, was a different thing altogether.

“Yeah.” Enjolras’ voice came from the studio. Grantaire groaned quietly, cursing curious blonde boys who wandered around apartments like they lived there. He climbed the stairs slowly, already knowing what he’d find.

Enjolras turned as Grantaire reached the top of the stairs.

“Is this me?” he asked, turning back around to look at the canvas Grantaire had spent all day painting.

“No,” Grantaire lied unconvincingly.

Enjolras turned to face him and raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking. “It looks like me.”

“Really? I don’t see it,” Grantaire shrugged. Enjolras just kept staring at him, until he rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he admitted. “Fine, maybe there’s _some_ resemblance.”

“Why would you paint me?” Enjolras asked, turning back to look at the painting.

“Well I didn’t _want_ to,” Grantaire said, leaning against the wall as he watched Enjolras take in his art. “I was _trying_ to paint that – ” he waved an arm over to where Lisa Simpson stood unfinished. “But – ”

“But?” Enjolras fixed his eyes on him. 

“But I got distracted,” Grantaire told him, matching his stare.

“Why did you paint me like that?” Enjolras asked curiously as he came closer. The image Grantaire had created of him looked divine, almost god-like.

Grantaire shrugged. Enjolras just kept getting closer. “I paint what I see,” he said simply.

Enjolras moved back over to the canvas, inspecting it carefully.

“It’s still – ” Grantaire warned as Enjolras reached out to touch it. “Wet,” he finished lamely.

“That’s how you see me?” Enjolras asked, turning back to Grantaire.

There was too much vodka in his bloodstream, Grantaire thought. Or perhaps not enough, but either way, he couldn’t find it in him to say no.

“It’s not far off,” he admitted, and it was the truth. He admired Enjolras. He had always admired Enjolras. He was a good person, a strong person, a person who would stand up for something he believed in, even if it meant starting brawls he couldn’t possibly finish. He was trying to figure out a way to tell him all of this when he felt Enjolras’ lips collide with his own.

On instinct alone, his hands flew to the boy’s waist, drawing him closer. Enjolras responded enthusiastically, pressing his body against Grantaire’s anywhere that it would fit.

“Wait,” Enjolras said hesitantly, pulling away. Grantaire resisted the urge to pout. Waiting was not on his list of things he wanted to do. “Are you drunk?”

Grantaire grinned. “Have we met? I’m always drunk.”

“I’m _serious_ ,” Enjolras said. “I mean, do you – you’re not just kissing me because you’re drunk?”

Grantaire just looked at him. “Enjolras. You did see the canvas where I painted you as a divine creature, didn’t you?”

Enjolras blushed. “Yeah, but, I just, I want to make sure that you want to do this, and I’m not like, taking advantage of you.”

Grantaire laughed and moved quickly, switching their positions so that Enjolras was pressed up against the wall. He took Enjolras’ face in his hands and kissed him deeply, running his hands down his arms gently. He slipped them underneath his shirt to rest on his waist as his mouth moved from Enjolras’ lips to his neck.

“I’m tipsy,” he said into his skin. “But I still want you. And besides,” he said, grinning. “Unlike some people, I can handle my alcohol.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You get into one bar fight, and suddenly you’re a lightweight.” He hissed as Grantaire’s hands, exploring the skin beneath his shirt, skimmed over his bruise.

“Sorry,” Grantaire apologised, biting softly into Enjolras’ neck, enjoying the noise the boy made in response. “Want me to kiss it better?”

Enjolras brought Grantaire’s face back to him, kissing him ferociously. “You’re a menace,” he said, looking up into Grantaire’s eyes, which were full of mischief.

“That wasn’t a no,” Grantaire observed with a grin.

“No,” Enjolras said, his hands making their way beneath Grantaire’s shirt, trailing along the skin just above his waistband. “It wasn’t.”

He pulled Grantaire forward and kissed him. Grantaire pulled him closer, until there was no space at all between them, and it still didn’t seem close enough. They detached from each other long enough to make it down the stairs without injury, discarding their clothes carelessly as they made their way towards the bedroom.

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoy this kinda gay nerd content please consider [buying me a coffee!](http://ko-fi.com/A507ZD8)


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